


Open Book

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Cheesy, Default Hawke (Dragon Age), M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Reverse Big Bang Challenge, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-20
Updated: 2018-06-20
Packaged: 2019-05-26 01:22:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14989664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: Hawke is so easy to read, like the open book in front of him; and it’s one of the many things Anders adores about him.Written for the Handers Reverse Big Bang 2018.





	Open Book

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Handers RBB 2018. Art by @lesbian-hawke on Tumblr:
> 
>  

The scritch of the quill is the only sound Anders hears as he writes his manifesto by candlelight, frowning in concentration over both the parchment spread before him and the grimoire he’d laid out for reference – so when Hawke tries to sneak up behind him, no matter how softly he treads on the plush library carpet, Anders jerks his head round immediately.

It’s a routine they do many nights, and no matter how sneaky Garrett Hawke thinks he’s being, he is no rogue, and he is never that subtle. And Justice can sense his presence anyway, even if the ginger tabby cat they recently brought home lazily sleeps on, curled up on the desk beside the manifesto pages, undisturbed.

‘Caught in the act again,’ Anders smiles as he stands up, while Hawke gives up all pretence at subterfuge and takes the last few steps towards him, gathering Anders into his arms.

‘One of these days,’ Hawke sighs in a mock-exasperated tone, ‘I’ll get you, Anders. I’ll surprise you and you won’t even know I’m here.’

‘Justice knows,’ Anders says, then chuckles at the surprise that blooms across Hawke’s bearded face. Hawke is so easy to read, like the open book in front of him; and it’s one of the many things Anders adores about him. ‘Sometimes I think Justice is more aware of you than I am.’

Hawke shifts in Anders’s arms as he laughs, carefree and easy as the way he wields his magic, like a man with nothing to hide. He’s the Champion of Kirkwall now, an apostate known to the templars yet one that Knight Commander Meredith and her men cannot touch, and Anders both relishes that the Order cannot take him and fears that they might anyway.

‘Foiled by Justice this time, I see,’ Hawke chuckles; the wine-coloured silk he wears is smooth under Anders’s palms, a tantalising hint of the man’s bare skin underneath; a few tiny feathers from Anders’s coat shed themselves onto Hawke’s finery, but Hawke is so used to this by now he doesn’t notice or care. ‘Still. You – both of you – can’t stay up this late and work so hard every night. Even Justice needs a little time off.’

Anders tries to steady himself with one hand on the table as Hawke pushes him – almost with some urgency, despite Hawke’s apparent attempts to be gentle – into the bookcase behind him. It’s harder than Hawke intended; a cloud of dust mushrooms into the air where Anders hits the bookcase with a light thud.

‘Sorry,’ Hawke offers, but Anders can tell he’s not really very sorry at all. Hawke is easy enough to forgive, all cheeky smiles under neat dark beard and sparkling amber eyes that Anders could get lost in… but Anders knows that beneath the easy quips and lazy smiles is a man of determination and steel, a mage who can rain the most terrifying fire and lightning down from the sky with the slam of his staff, a man who would protect the blond revolutionary who fights at his side with the same fierce love that would see Anders drown the city in blood to keep this man safe.

And Anders knows that, right now, those sparkling amber eyes have a glint in them that tell Anders exactly what this man wants without even having to say the words. One look from Hawke can tell Anders more than an entire page of any book; and Anders exhales a shuddering breath of excitement as the Champion of Kirkwall sweeps Anders into his arms. His hand knocks over the inkwell and the black liquid spills onto the table, but the manifesto and the grimoire are still undisturbed, and the cat sleeps on.

‘What do you want, Hawke,’ Anders whispers, trying not to gulp; Hawke’s brown eyes burn into him with a heat that matches the urgency of the erection Hawke is pressing up against him, and it is delicious and tempting and irresistible.

‘You know what I want,’ Hawke growls, before sweeping the blond mage into his arms and carrying Anders helplessly up the stairs.

\---

Hawke fucks like he fights, ferocious and passionate and full of fire and fury; and by the time he’s finished with Anders, Anders is as much of a quivering, spent mess as he usually is. Hawke just gets better as time goes on, far from the fumbling farm boy he was the very first time they made love, unsure what Anders wanted or needed and surprised by that Grey Warden stamina his new lover had. Neither man was each other’s first lovers, but they were each other’s first loves – and that made all the difference.

When Anders had been in the Circle, love had been only a game; it gave the templars too much power to have something you couldn’t stand to lose. _No mage I know has ever dared to fall in love_ , Anders had explained, taking Hawke’s handsome face in his hands, wisps of spirit healing magic leaking from him with his emotions. _This is the rule I will most cherish breaking_.

Making love to Hawke is the furthest thing from a game that Anders can imagine.

Hawke hides his intensity and passion behind a series of ill-advised jokes and a jovial attitude; but Anders can see right through him, transparent and fragile as glass. He recognises in Hawke the man Anders himself was before he merged with Justice, and wonders how much more Hawke can withstand before he shatters.

For tonight, however, Anders made sure Hawke shattered in a different way, a better way; before Hawke came back, harder and stronger than ever, to make Anders come apart over and over again.

\---

But making love to Hawke is not always serious. Sometimes, Hawke is playful. The next time Hawke catches Anders in the library, Anders isn’t re-drafting the manifesto, but following Hawke’s advice and taking a break.

‘What’s that you’re reading?’ Hawke asks, as Anders blushes and attempts to hide his reading material – but he is just a moment too slow, and Hawke wrestles the book from Anders’s hands and Anders can’t do anything except give in as Hawke inspects the front cover.

‘It’s nothing,’ Anders snaps, but without bite, as he watches the dawning delight on his lover’s grinning, bearded face.

‘ _Anders_ ,’ Hawke says, voice all gleeful accusation, ‘this is a _romance novel_.’

Anders shrugs. ‘And?’

‘I thought you were writing the second instalment of your manifesto. Unless your manifesto has taken a… slightly unexpected turn.’ Hawke looks at the book again, and Anders’s cheeks are as pink as the cover he’s examining. ‘ _The Prince and the Prisoner_. Accused of performing magic in public, Enchanter Madlyn has been brought to the dungeons of Prince Alamar’s kingdom, but when the handsome prince meets his new young captive, he is charmed by…’

‘Hawke, please stop,’ Anders begs, flushing even harder. ‘I just wanted a… bit of light relief in between writing the manifesto.’ He knows it’s even trashier than the stuff Varric comes up with, but when a man has been writing about mage rights and revolution all day, sometimes a bit of rose-tinted escapism is exactly what he needs.

But Hawke won’t drop the subject; if anything, he seems even more exuberant about the novel than when he first picked it up. ‘Where did you find this? Was it in my library? Was it something Isabela left behind?’

Anders sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. ‘Yes, and yes. Happy now, love?’

‘Not so fast,’ Hawke grins. ‘If I’m going to catch my lover reading a trashy romance novel, then we should at least _act out_ some of this trashy romance novel you’ve been reading. _Especially_ if it’s one _Isabela’s_ left behind in my library. What do you say?’

Now it’s Anders’s turn to smile. Hawke is beaming, radiant, like the sun, like the one bright light in Kirkwall, the one bright light in Anders’s life, always.

‘Well,’ Anders begins, in a jaunty voice, ‘I suppose there is _one_ scene in _The Prince and the Prisoner_ I’ve been intrigued by…’

‘Oh?’ Hawke is leaning in close now, hot breath ghosting over Anders’s ear; and despite himself a shiver of pleasure runs down Anders’s spine. His voice is low, full of danger and desire and promise and oh, how Anders _wants_. ‘Show me, Anders. Tell me what’s on your mind.’

It doesn’t take Anders long to whisper in his lover’s ear exactly what he has in mind. Hawke licks his lips in excitement and approval, ready to take the part of the dashing Prince Alamar while Anders takes up the role of the distressed captive Enchanter Madlyn, as fiction becomes reality and reality is better than fiction, because it always is with Hawke; always was, always will be, even when they’re revolutionaries on the run.  

The book is open in front of them, but with their bodies they write their own version of the story; and for tonight, each man is the only literature they ever need to read. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com)!


End file.
